


All of My Life I've Been Frozen

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: I can't believe I wrote 10k words of this, M/M, Mortal AU, Mostly Fluff, Tattoo Artist Kurt, a little drama, florist Warren, over protective big sister Jean Grey is everything ok, set in the First Class time line, tattoo artist/florist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warren's a grumpy punk-rock florist who only listens to classic rock and has like 1 friend. Kurt's the spunky tattoo artist who ends up renting the shop beside Warren's Peace. After a chance meeting, they become good friends, but Warren can't help but want more. Meddling friends, misunderstandings, and the weight of their respective pasts threatens to tear them apart. But in the end, will they make it back to each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of My Life I've Been Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title is from Adele's "Sweetest Devotion" 2. I have never stepped foot in a flower shop I am so sorry, plus I know that these flowers are probably nowhere near the same season forgive me 3. Yes, Warren's flower show name is a War and Peace pun, I'm not sorry 4. This is my first time writing for this pairing, or this branch of the Marvel universe in general, and I don't really feel like I have the characters just right yet, so, yeah 5. Check the end notes for the meanings of each of the flowers because I'm that person

Warren perched easily atop the rickety stool tucked away behind the polished white counter. He plucked up a purple hyacinth, pinching it delicately between the pads of his fingers as he eyed the bundle of identical blooms in front of him. Thoughtfully, he pressed the new one into the center, making sure every blossom was on display, yet not overshadowing its neighbor.

He hadn’t had time to shuck off his jacket before getting to work, so the black leather stood out remarkably against the stark white walls surrounding him. Rolling his shoulders, the angel wings stitch into the back wriggled, looking real in the pale morning light.

The bell above the door tinged, snapping Warren out of the easy groove he had fallen into. He flicked his eyes up, mouth poised to deliver his normal, unemotional greeting, until he saw who was standing in front of him.

“You’re late,” he scoffed, tying a white ribbon neatly around the bouquet.

“Nah, you’re just early,” Peter shrugged, pushing the motorcycle goggled that were suction-cupped to his face back into his wild mane of silver hair. He hopped the counter, completely against using predetermined forms of entry, and discarded his gaudy silver jacket onto the hook that had been provided for him.

“That Mister X’s order?” He pointed.

Warren grunted, which could loosely be translated to a yes on a good day. “You’re delivering it, by the way.”

“Woah, seriously?! You never let me deliver for the cool customers! Where am I taking it?”

“I texted you the address this morning, y’know, when you were supposed to be at work.

Peter at least had the decency to look sheepish as he gathered up his things. He called a good-bye over his shoulder as he pulled his jacket on, making sure to handle the bouquet carefully.

Warren shook his head, sliding off of the stool to head towards the back room. He rolled the dial on the old stereo, letting the singer’s smoky voice flow through him.  
He turned to face he room, surveying the inventory with a fine gaze. The ones closest to the front of the room needed to sell sooner than later.

With a few hunches of orange roses in hand, he strolled back towards the front. He deposited them on the counter, and tugged a laminated sheet out from under the counter. It was a painstakingly detailed map of his shop, it disclosed the location of every petal in leaf, colors and light requirement written in cramped, yet flourishing letter beside each plant name.

With his favorite pencil tucked in the side of his mouth, he scanned the paper, looking for an open spot. He rubbed his hands over his face, resigning himself to having to rearrange to accommodate them.

He let the eraser roll over the old markings to remove them, before letting the led scratch out new ones. After a few minutes of this, he let his eyes idly wander as a reprieve from squinting at his own handwriting.

Naturally, his eyes drifted to the yawning glass of the front of the shop. He caught sight of the tail end of a pick-up truck, a flash of yellow leather, and a swinging orange-red braid. A few stray boxes were stacked on the edge of the tailgate and in front of the wheel, marked in harsh black lettering in what looked like German.

 _They must’ve finally rented out the space next door._ he thought to himself.

Dismissing the thought from his mind was easy. He hadn’t liked the last guy that rented out the space before the new occupant. He had been one of those “the world’s gonna end and I’m gonna tell you exactly how” conspiracy theorists, who also dabbled in life coaching (among other [illegal] things.)

Warren was also pretty sure the guy had been in a cult, but he tried not to dwell on it.

He turned, back facing the door, as he rummaged around in a dented filing cabinet he filled with both old and current orders. He was hoping that if he filled a few more orders, he could free up some space out on the floor for his overstock.

The bell above the door chimed for the second time that day. It couldn’t be Peter, the address on the order was all the way across town.

There were multiple pitches of voices, all chattering against the backdrop of each other.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” he promised, grabbing the folders he had been looking for, and sliding the drawer shut.

“He flicked through the papers contained within the manila folders, before casting his eyes over the small group.

There were four of them, all scrunched as close together as possible. The first, closest to him, was a tall woman – the owner of the fiery braid. She wore a faded green, pocketed t-shirt, dark was jeans, chunky-heeled black ankle boots, and a fierce, commanding expression.

Behind her was a man with perfectly combed brown hair and sunglasses on. He was talking happily with the girl at his side – tho one sporting the yellow leather jacket (Warren idly thought about how she and Peter would get along famously.)

In front of the brightly dressed girl was a short man, who happened to be much more interesting than his companions. His hair was inky black, but when the light hit it just right, blue could be seen, refracting the sunbeams. Blue ink looped gently over every inch of exposed skin. Over the hollows of his cheeks and the edges of his jawline. Over the swell of his throat, and the barely exposed sharpness of his collarbones. Even over his nervously twitching knuckles and around the delicate skin and poking bones of his wrists.

He smiled softly at Warren, a slight under bite tugging at his lips.

“Welcome to Warren’s Peace,” Warren stated blandly, addressing no one in particular.

The red head chuckled before beginning. “Hi,” she said, bringing Warren’s attention to her. “Jean, that’s Jubilation, Scott, and this little guy is Kurt,” she explained, pointing to each member of the group before pulling Kurt, who would have an inch or two on her if not for her heels, in and scrubbing her knuckles through his hair affectionately.

“ _Jean_ ,” he whined under his breath, batting at her with hands whose nails were coated in navy blue polish.

“How can I help you?” Warren asked, crossing his arms over his chest, and feeling the leather stretch across his broad shoulders.

“Kurt’s renting out the shop next door and we kinda need help moving some stuff in.”

“Four of you can’t move whatever it is you need moved?” he frowned.

“I’m the only one who can do anything,” Jean grinned. “Jubilee has a sprained wrist and Kurt’s directing.

“That’s only three of you, what about him?” Warren asked, pointing at Scott.

Scott chuckled under his breath. “I currently can’t see, pal.”

“He just had laser eye surgery, and is way too clumsy on his own, anyways,” Jean added with a scoff. “Think you could help us out?”

Warren took a minute to mull it over – which Kurt must have taken as polite denial.

“We are very sorry for bothering you,” Kurt started, a thick accent marring his words.

So that’s where the German came from, then.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll help,” Warren said, speaking over Kurt.

Their cacophony of sound started back up as they all began talking over each other. Jean stuck her pointer finger and thumb in her mouth, letting loose a piercing whistle to gather her friend’s attention.

“So, could you help us now, or…?” Jean trailed.

Warren grunted his assent, pushing through the half door in the counter to stand in front of them.

They lead him out to the pick-up, which Jean proudly claimed as her own. She had no problem bossing Warren around, even though she just met him, as the next words out of her mouth were orders to climb in the back of the truck.

Together, under the supervision of Kurt, they moved two oddly shaped, heavy chairs from the bed of the truck into the shop. It took them a while to maneuver the furniture, and even longer to figure out how to get them in the door of the building.

It was hot out that day, so by the time they had finished, Warren was drenched in sweat. He tugged off his jacket, leaving him in a wrinkled white t-shirt. Without thinking much of it, he brought the bottom hem of the shirt upwards to wipe his place dry.

He blinked the phosphenes out of his vision before looking back at the people in front of him. 

“ _What_?” he snarled, noticing that they were all either staring, pointedly _not_ staring – save Scott, who was bobbing his head to imaginary music, completely unaware of the situation.

Warren ground his teeth in agitation, hear beat speeding up with each passing second. Realistically, he knew that they couldn’t see the fine scars that crisscrossed over the flat lanes of his stomach. The lines were too light, the pucker of his skin hidden by the sharp edges of muscle, there were hundreds of reasons why they wouldn’t know.

But that didn’t stop the shame burning in his chest, or the hot coal of embarrassment rooting in the deepest reaches of his rib cage.

“Nothing,” Jean said, sending a smirk Kurt’s way, before tugging her phone out and sending a rapid fire text.

Warren didn’t fail to notice that Kurt, Jubilee, and Scott’s phones all buzzed and chimed a few moments later, but he did decide to ignore it.

With a tick forming in his jaw, he decided it was time for him to make his exit, lest he say something that he might, for once in his life, regret. “That all you need me for?” he asked, but the offer had already been pulled off of the table; he was already collecting his jacket and stuffing his arms into it, even though it was sweltering outside.

He was pushing the door open to exit when a timid, “Thank you, Angel,” was called after him. 

The gnashing of his teeth may have softened, but it still didn’t stop him from leaving.

~ The Mutant Squad ~

Phoenix: _I s2g I counted 6 in that pack Lord s a v e m e_

Jubilee: _IK_

Nightcrawler: _He’s literally right there, we should really not be talking about him, yes ???_

Phoenix: _Live a little kiddo, besides we all kno you were looking too ;)_

Nightcrawler: _I was NOT_

Phoenix: _lol s u r e_

Jubilee: _guys I’m 99% sure hes leaving_

Nightcrawler: _you ran him off, job well done Jean_

Phoenix: _As your honorary big sister it’s literally my job to embarrass you in front of cure guys so just be glad it wasn’t worse Wagner_

Jubilee: _OMG BBY KURT GOT GAME_

Phoenix: _“thnx Angel” im screaminf_

Cyclops: _I cNt sew a tjinf buti feel lije im issing smthn_

 

\-----

 

The next afternoon, Peter was actually on time, much to Warren’s surprise. Warren, once again, was stationed behind the counter, this time pouring over the inventory.

“Hey, did you see that they rented out the shop next door?” Peter asked excitedly, trading his jacket for his embroidered apron, which he tied around his waist.

“Yes. Bring me those pansies,” Warren pointed as he squinted at the list in front of him.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Peter murmured petulantly, but still headed towards the flowers in question.

“No, I just don’t have time for petty gossip,” Warren fired back, reaching for the flowers without taking his eyes off of the paper.

“I’m gonna make your contact name in my phone ‘Party Pooper’.”

Warren sighed heavily under his breath. “I’m going to delete your number from my phone if you don’t shut up and _hand me those pansies_.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but still handed them over. Warren eyes the buds almost accusingly, grumbled under his breath, and slashed something across the price tag.

They stayed like this for a few more hours, rough classic rock easing through the speakers as they worked diligently. Peter tried to take control of the radio when Warren trekked to the far wall of the back room, but Warren had snarled a quick, “Oh dear God, is that Cascada?” before changing it back to the usual station.

Eventually, after lots of loud whining, Warren agreed to dismiss Peter for lunch.

“But you have to actually come back this time, Peter,” Warren called as Peter pushed the door open.

Peter cursed under his breath, but nodded his head anyway. Warren wasn’t currently hungry, so he decided to stay behind instead of breaking for lunch.  
He rested his elbows on the counter, letting his eyes fall closed for a short breather. The bell jingled only seconds later, but it wasn’t enough to get Warren to open his eyes.  
“You left your wallet again, didn’t you?” he asked, figuring Peter had circled back to retrieve it.

“Oh, uh,” the person – who Warren decided was not, in fact, his employee – stammered.

Warren’s eyes popped open, the voice pulling at the edges of his subconscious and frayed memories, his mind telling him he should remember it.

The man from the day before was standing just inside the door, something tucked under his arm. He ventured farther in, approaching the counter almost timidly.

“I wanted to stop by and apologize, for yesterday? I realize my friends are…an acquired taste,” he said lightly, which earned a derisive snort from Warren.

Kurt smiled gently, pulling the tin out from under his arm. “I made some of my great grandmother’s honey cookies,” he explained. “I thought I’d drop some off as a sort of peace offering.”

“You didn’t have to-“ Warren began, looking from the tin to Kurt’s smiling face. He bit his lip, taking the tin and setting it on the counter between them, his fingers brushing the blue-coiled ones of the other man.

“Thanks,” he sighed.

“Again, I am sorry about my friends, and I hope that they did not make you uncomfortable, or offend you,”

“Kurt, right?” Kurt nodded, puffing up a little at the fact that Warren had remembered his name. “Look, Kurt, honestly, I’d already forgotten in. No harm, no foul.”

“Oh. Okay, good.”  
They stood in an awkward silence, Warren staring at the backs of his hands, and Kurt obviously searching for a new conversational topic. He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, rocking on his heels, before saying, “I should probably get going…Jubilee’s waiting on me so we can start painting.”

Warren nodded. “Thanks again, for the cookies.”

Kurt bobbed his head. “You are welcome, it was good to see you again, Angel,” he quickly turned on his heels and fled towards the door, slipping out and around the corner. Warren popped the lid off of the cookie tin, picking one up to inspect it. Deciding that it looked harmless enough, he bit into it.

He wasn’t exactly one for sweet things, but they were actually pretty good. Heavy on the honey, but in a pleasant way. He finished that one, staring off in thought at the front door. He must have zoned out, because the next thing he remembered was Peter waling in the door and tossing a McDonald’s bad at his head.

“Figured you didn’t eat anything, so I brought you some fries and a chicken sandwich,” he said, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs back and forth.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the tin in front of Warren.

“Honey cookies. The guy from next door brought them.”

“Ah score, I had a buddy in college who made these like, every single week. I’m pretty sure I lived off of them for like, three days one time. Can I have one?” the last question wasn’t really necessary, seeing as how he was already reaching for one.

“ _Please, be my guest,_ ” Warren snarked, sliding the tin towards Peter.

“Thanks man,” Peter grinned as he popped half a cookie in his mouth.

Warren scowled, putting the lid back on the tin and carrying it to his office. He rolled the drawer out, and dropped the container inside on top of a stack of bills and hastily scribbled notes.

He pressed his palm against the face of the drawer, slamming it shut; thoroughly locking the cookies away from Peter’s sneaky hands and any other possible thieves.

 

\-----

 

Direct Message

Phoenix: _So did you drop the cookies off ??_

Nightcrawler: _It is really not that big of a deal, Jean_

Phoenix: _You specially made a cute boy some cookies – it’s a big deal, so shush and spill_

Nightcrawler: _I made him the cookies to apologize for my annoying friends :/_

*read at 1:22pm

 

\-----

 

Wednesday came and went, the only event of mild importance being when Warren had locked eyes with Kurt when the latter was passing in front of the former’s shop on his way back from lunch. Kurt had waved, but didn’t enter, and Warren wasn’t sure if he was happy about that or not. Thursday was a carbon copy of the day before, and the same could be said for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, too.

The next week, Warren ran into Kurt a few times on his way into the shop in the mornings. The tattooed man seemed to be getting there earlier so he could get more work done, Wednesday morning, when Warren finally asked about it, Kurt explained that he wanted to be done in the next few weeks so he could have the shop opened by the end of the month.

On a whim, Warren had told Kurt that if there was anything he could do, to let him know – which not only surprised Warren, but even Kurt looked a little taken a back. He had recovered gracefully though, giving Warren a warm smile, and thanking him for the offer, promising to take him up on it should the need arise.  
Thursday afternoon was the next truly eventful day. Warren had just sent Peter out on a delivery, and sat down to a lunch of cold leftovers from last night’s dinner. He poked at the noodles, twirling them around the plastic fork in his hand.

He felt the cool breeze sweep into the room before he heard the bell above the door. He looked up, confused because the sign clearly stated that the shop was closed for lunch, but instead, was met with a familiar sight.

Kurt crossed the room until he was standing in front of the counter, one hand tucked into the back pocket of his tight, dark skinny jeans, the other clutching the strap of the backpack that hung off of his shoulder. A small patch of his hair stuck out of the cut out in his backwards snap back, which he blew out of his eyes before turning his attention fully on Warren.

“Hello, Angel,” he grinned, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet – a nervous habit he had, Warren had learned.

“Hey, Kurt,” Warren nodded, bringing the fork up to his mouth. He had become accustomed to the nickname almost immediately – which was weird because the last person that tried to give him a nickname (Peter) hadn’t tried again since.

“Every time I pass by, you are always eating alone.”

“There technically wasn’t a question in that statement,” Warren grumbled, slipping the noodles off of his fork and into his mouth.

Kurt raised an eyebrow in question, making the swirls on his face ripple like wave lines. Warren sighed. “My employee’s usually out at lunch or on a delivery, so I just eat alone,” he shrugged, scooping up more noodles.

“I usually eat with Jean or Jubilee, or Scott, if I’m desperate, but they’re all predisposed today, so I wanted to see if you wanted to eat lunch with me.”

Warren frowned at his lunch, something weird roiling in his stomach. Kurt reached his hand out, pressing two fingers against the side of Warren’s Tupperware container. He “hmphed”, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I have a microwave,” he taunted, taking a step backwards.

Warren didn’t need much more prodding than that, if he had to eat another cold spaghetti noodle, he might punch something. He scooped up the container and stood, watching Kurt’s features shift into delight.

Having a warm lunch may be his main goal, but ok, that smile being directed his way wasn’t the worst bonus. He shook his head lightly, wishing he could shake the thoughts out of his head.

Kurt pushed the door open, holding it for Warren to pass through. Warren inclined his head in a silent thanks, returning the favor by holding the door to Kurt’s shop to the owner. The shop was set up surprisingly similar to the flower shop. The microwave was in what Kurt had referred to as the “break room”, but what Warren was used to calling the back room.

Once he had finished, he followed Kurt into the main area. They both sat crossed-legged on the floor, accidentally bumping knees more than a few times. They finally settled in, Kurt munching soundly on a Cobb salad.

“I feel kind of bad for asking,” Warren began, looking around the shop. There was paper laid all over the floor, held down with blue painter’s tape. It was torn near the center of the room, revealing sawdust covered checkerboard style tiles.

The windows across the front were covered with the same paper as the floor. There was a decal pasted to the glass, but it was faded, not to mention backwards, and from the inside, it was impossible for Warren to read.

There were dark blue cabinets on either wall, shallow sinks dropped into the bases. Scattered more prominently around the shop were paint cans and brushes, along with cleaning supplies of varying uses.

“I’m a firm believer that there are no stupid questions, Angel.”

“What do you do, exactly?” Warren blurted, scowling deeply at the floor.

Kurt laughed loudly, setting his salad down on the floor, before slouching until he was bent in half, clutching gleefully at his stomach. Warren sent his hunched form a dark glare, rolling his shoulders under his jacket just to have something to do.

“I’m sorry, Angel, really, I am. I just, I was worried that my profession was quite painfully obvious.”

“Well it isn’t,” Warren mumbled, pink brushing across the harsh lines of his jaw and cheeks.

“This is a tattoo parlor. I am a tattoo artist.”

“Oh,” was Warren’s eloquent reply. 

He looked from the cabinets – one door was cracked open to reveal a couple things of ink – to the corner where a few, cracked-spine, bent cover, obviously well-loved design books were resting. His eyes landed on the oddly shaped chairs, each stationed only a few feet away from a set of cabinets.

“ _Oh,_ ” he repeated, eyes finally coming to rest on the scrawl inked across Kurt’s bobbing throat.

“You look surprised?” Kurt chuckled, picking his salad back up.

“You just don’t really seem like a tattoo artist?”

Then, “Oh! That sounded, really rude? Shit, Kurt, I’m sorry.”

“Angel, relax, it is okay. I hear it a lot, I am used to it,” he said, eyes glittering with amusement.

“You think this is funny don’t you?” Warren asked, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Just a little,” Kurt admitted, which earned him a rotini noodle to the temple.

 

\-----

 

Every day after that, for the next two weeks, Kurt and Warren ate lunch together; even if Kurt had the option to go out to eat with Jean, Jubilee, and/or Scott (who he affectionately referred to as The Mutants.)

Each day, Kurt strolled in at 1:30 on the dot. Sometimes, they’d walk next door and Kurt would show Warren all of the progress that they had made, and other times they would stay at the flower shop, and Warren would introduce Kurt to all of his favorite classic rock hits.

They became great friends, practically attached at the hip from the time they came into work, ‘til the time they went back to their respective homes at the end of the day.

Kurt would check in during work hours, making sure that Warren didn’t sit at the counter all day (“It is not good for your back, Angel.” – “Yeah, yeah, I know.”) and Warren periodically visited the parlor to help out when and where he could.

While their friendship grew, so did the endless stream of suggestive, borderline inappropriate taunts from The Mutants.

But one thing definitely not growing, was a bit of attraction in Warren’s heart for the tattooed man. Even if it was, it wasn’t anyone’s business, but it wasn’t, so there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Okay, so maybe that was a blatant like, and Warren’s heart sped up every time Kurt smiled at him with that little under bite, and his tattoos shifted across his cheeks because his grin was too wide, and he doubled over in laughter at something Warren had said offhandedly. And maybe his heart stopped every time their skin brushed, or their eyes met.

And maybe every time Kurt called him “Angel” he wanted to press him up against the nearest wall and kiss that smile right off of his face.

But it was fine, honestly, Warren was… _fine_. He loved having Kurt as a friend. He loved not having to eat alone, and having someone who worried enough about his wellbeing that they stopped in to check on him.

He just wished that there was a little more kissing in this scenario.

Warren had always been confident. Always. He was the cocky punk-rock kid, the one that girls and guys alike sighed over. It used to be that he could simply say one word and the next thing he knew, he’d be pressing up against someone, the ending of one body and beginning of the next blurring until he couldn’t tell who he was anymore with each lustful kiss.

But he didn’t want that with Kurt. Well, he kinda did, but that wasn’t the point. The other part of him, the part that had possessed him to open a flower shop because it was what he loved, wanted the sleepy kisses, and the lazy mornings in each other’s arms, and the laughter, and the inside jokes, and the warm, grounding presence of a body next to his in the bed at night, and the easiness that went along with knowing that he belonged with someone, somewhere.

Warren hadn’t belonged in…in a long time.

He absently ran his fingers along the slight puckers across his stomach, standing in front of his mirror in nothing but pajama pants. The scars weren’t bad there, on his stomach, his chest and back had taken most of the brunt from his past.

Warren wasn’t proud of the things he had endured to get the scars. He could sometimes still smell the booze and cigarettes on the spectators breaths, hear the rattle of the cage, too. Sometimes, sometimes he could even see their faces. He tried to forget them, their names, their features, their breaths, hot and scared on his face.

No, Warren wasn’t proud of the things he had done to get the es. They were a reminder. He had survived. He had lived to tell the tale, and honestly, that was all he could ask for.

He got dressed in a hurry, snagging his jacket up from where it rested on a coat rack by the door, and pushed his arms into the sleeves at the same time, shaking it into a more comfortable position.

Rain was coming down in sheets, drenching Warren in seconds. The shop was only a few blocks away from his apartment building, so he walked, favoring it over being packed in with strangers in public transport.

While he wasn’t desperate enough to take the bus, he did angrily wish he had an umbrella the whole walk. He made sure to add it to his list of things he needed to pick up next time he was at the store.

When he made it to the store, he could already hear the sounds to music and loud chatter from the slightly cracked parlor door. He pulled it the final few inches it needed to click shut that way rain wouldn’t get on the new floor.

He unlocked the door to his own store, slipping inside quickly and brushing his feet off on the mat he had placed just inside the door for days like this. He dropped his keys off in his office, shucking his jacket off too to let it hang over the back of his desk chair and dry out.

He grabbed a clipboard off of the edge of his desk on the way out, picking up where he had left off with his work the day before. 

1:30 rolled around quickly, but Kurt had texted a couple hours before to let him know that he was going to have lunch with The Mutants that day, as they wouldn’t quit pestering him to come along with them.

For the first time in two and a half or so weeks, Warren ate alone. He had been doing it for years, and mentally berated himself for getting so used to something that hadn’t even been going on that long. 

He turned his music up extra loud that day, hoping it would compensate for the absence of Kurt’s lilting voice.

It didn’t.

An hour later he saw The Mutants drop Kurt off and drive away, which was surprising, as they usually stayed around after lunch to help. Warren almost went next door to see what was up, but he didn’t have to.

Only seconds later, Kurt was pushing into the flower shop, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, ranting in German.

Warren watched curiously, eyebrows quirked together in confusion. When Kurt finally hung up, he looked at Warren with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine, what’s up?”

“I locked my keys in the shop, and Jean has got the spare, but she had to go take care of some pressing family matters and will not be able to come back for another hour or so,”

“Jubilee or Scott can’t bring you the key?”

“The weather is getting worse, Jean’s dad will not let them risk it,” he shrugged. “Mind if I hang out with you? Jean said that she had checked the weather earlier and it should be cleared up in an hour or so, and I would rather not walk all the way home in the rain, just to turn around and come back.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get some orders filled, but you’re welcome to sit and wait out the storm.”

“Thank you, Angel,” Kurt sighed in relief.

“No problem.”

Kurt ran his hand through his hair, pushing the sopping mess back out of his face. “What are you working on?” he asked, plopping down onto the counter, making sure not to crush any flowers.

“Run of the mill birthday bouquet,” Warren replied distractedly. “The only direction I was given was to use pink and yellow, which is all well and good ‘cause color schemes are important, but I couldn’t even get a vague idea of what species they wanted,” Warren grumbled.

Kurt laughed at the pout on Warren’s face, listening intently to him mutter grumpily about idiotic customers. Kurt responded eagerly with tales of his own unsavory customers.

They traded story after story, the minutes dwindling away as they talked. Eventually, it shifted from bad work experiences to random chatter, just something idle to fill the air.

Even once they did fall silent, Warren was surprisingly comfortable. He’d never been one for silence, it was too oppressive, but this was different. He was almost reluctant to shatter the calmness. 

“Hand me that?” he asked softly, pointing to a flower pressing against Kurt’s thigh. The other man was surprisingly gentle, picking it up like it might break if he applied too much pressure.

Warren smiled to himself at the sight, warmth thrumming in his chest, and flooding all the way to his fingertips when he extracted the flower from Kurt’s grip.

“What is your favorite? Flower, I mean,” Kurt asked after a particularly long stretch of silence and watching Warren assemble another bouquet.

“Everyone always asks, but I still don’t have an answer after all these years,” Warren replied with a chuckle.

“Think about it, get back to me,” Kurt said, tone serious.

Warren nodded, grabbing the newly finished bouquet and slipping it into the fridge until tomorrow when Peter would deliver it. He cleaned up his workspace, before pushing through the half door and joining Kurt.

If Peter was here, he’d probably have a conniption, seeing as how Warren was always barking at him not to sit on the counter. 

“You heard from The Mutants yet?” Warren asked, bumping his knee gently against Kurt’s.

“No, but Jean always forgets to text anyways, so she will probably be back soon.”

And just like that, they were back to their silence, watching the rain dribble down the glass of the front door.

Out of the corner of his eye, Warren could see Kurt blinking hard, obviously having trouble keeping his eyes open.  
“The rain make you tired?” 

“No, the four hours of sleep makes me tired. The rain just likes to encourage.”

Warren huffed a laugh, bumping his shoulder against Kurt’s side. “You can put your head on my shoulder.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” Warren hummed.

He watched it happen out of the corner of his eye. Kurt angled his body towards Warren’s, pressing his head into the crook of his neck.

Warren swallowed hard, keeping his eyes focused on the raindrops sliding down the windows. He prayed that Kurt couldn’t feel his pulse, because he currently had no good explanation. 

They sat like that for a while, Warren wasn’t sure how long, as he lost track of time just a few minutes in. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, feeling like a ten pound weight. He swallowed again, throat dry. Quietly, he croaked, “Kurt?”

The man lifted his head, turning so he could look Warren in the eye.

Any words that Warren could have possibly spoken immediately vacated his brain the moment his eyes made contact with Kurt’s lips.

“Ah,” he stammered, licking his lips absently. Kurt blinked, and to Warren’s currently distracted brain, it seemed long, drawn out. Taunting. It seemed taunting.

Their faces were close, under six inches from each other, but it was rapidly becoming smaller the closer Warren inched. Kurt was close to closing the gap, eyes falling shut in a moment of silent bliss, when the bell above the door clanged loudly.

They leapt apart, Kurt nearly falling off of the counter in his mad dash. Warren hopped off, pacing back around to the other side of it.

“Jean,” Kurt stated looking at his red headed friend with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, Kurt, I got the door unlocked, your keys were on your stations cabinet. I think Jubilee has them.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, his voice sounding weak, shaken.

“You okay?” Jean frowned, looping her arm around his shoulder.

“I am…fine. I am fine. Let us go,” he said feebly, not meeting Warren’s eyes.

“Okay?” she said, guiding him towards the door. She turned around the shoot Warren a look over her shoulder, but Kurt hissed something under his breath in tight German, and she turned back around.

Warren watched them go, an odd feeling taking up residence in his stomach. He shook his head, fingertips dancing across his scalp as he brushed his pale locks out of his eyes. Staring after them even after they were long gone, he clutched at his hair, a slew of curses slipping languidly off of his tongue.

 

\-----

 

~ The Mutant Squad ~

Phoenix: _Kurt what happened_

Phoenix: _Are you okay?_

Jubilee: _Kurt, hon’, you’re worrying us_

Phoenix: _Please respond to somebody’s texts_

Cyclops: _We know you’re opening our messages, Kurt_

Jubilee: _Kurt, you know we love you, you can tell us anything_

Phoenix: _Kurt please_

Havoc: _Kurt? Man, you’re worrying everyone, Scott doesn’t ask for anything from me and he even asked me to see if I could get through to you_

Nightcrawler: _Guys, I am fine. I promise. Nothing happened, just leave it alone. Alex, I am sorry that Scott brought you into this, I know you are busy with school and everything._  
Direct Message

Unknown: _What the hell did you do to my best friend? ~ Jean_

Message failed to send. Try again?

Message Erased.

 

\-----

 

Warren only saw Kurt in passing, they didn’t go out of their way to speak with each other, and when they did have to speak it was tense and awkward. Warren tried to apologize one morning, afraid that he had overstepped his boundaries, or just read the situation all wrong in general.

He was even more afraid that he had lost the first good friendship he had had in years. His days fell back into the lull from the month before, even Peter could see that something was missing. 

The silver haired man had tried to broach the subject with his boss one morning, but he’d received a deadly glare and the threat of unemployment if he didn’t leave it alone. 

Warren had basically resigned himself to never speaking to the blue covered man or his acquaintances ever again. Until five days before the end of the month, that is.

Direct Message

Unknown: _Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Kurt. I don’t ~want~ to know what happened between you and Kurt. What I do want, however, is for my best friend to be happy. You’re both obviously miserable, and you seem to bright some happiness to Kurt’s life for some reason currently unknown to me. So, I’m going to throw you this bone with the best of intentions: The rest of The Mutants and I are throwing a party to celebrate the opening of the shop on Friday, 7pm. Show up, dress nice, and don’t mess this up or I swear I will make you wish you’d never met him. ~ Jean_

 

\-----

 

Friday came quicker than Warren would have liked, he was a bundle of nerves the moment his eyes snapped awake with his alarm clock. 

Jean had told him to dress nice, so he took extra care dressing that morning. 

He selected a nice, pale blue button up, which he tucked into a clean pair of jeans. They fell over worn combat boots, but he at least looked like he had put some sort of effort into dressing himself. He even remembered to comb out his light waves.

He grabbed his jacket on his way out, instantly stuffing his hands into the pockets once he had pulled it on. He bowed his head against the wind, trudging to the shop.

The day before, he had caught up on all of his pressing orders just so he could work on something special for that night. When he got to the shop, he wasn’t surprised to hear Kurt already beating and banging around in the parlor. It was the second to last day of the month, after all, and he was hoping to have it open within the next 24 or so hours.

Warren had to stop himself from going in and asking to help. He knew that The Mutants would show up soon, most likely with reinforcements such as Scott’s older brother Alex, and Jean’s friends Ororo (who would be doing piercings once the shop opened.) 

He unlocked the door and pushed inside, leaving the closed sign on “sorry, we’re closed” so as not to be disturbed. Peter wouldn’t start his shift until noon, so Warren would open up then. 

He flicked the radio on, tuning to his regular channel, and set to work digging though the inventory out front for just the right flowers.

He found the bunch of gardenias exactly where he knew they would be, grabbing the white flowers up and depositing them on the counter, and returning to the floor to find one more flower. He had to really dig for it, but a few moments later, he found it: a single, full blossom red rose.

He smirked to himself, resting it next to the gardenias. His approach to assembling the bouquet was simple: only the brightest blossoms would do. He took note of every curve of each petal, every dip in the stem, and arc of the leaves. 

Eventually, he couldn’t make any more adjustments, so he slipped the rose into the center, and placed them in a plain, milky white vase. He snipped a length of ribbon, the color reminding him of Kurt’s highlights, and tied it around the neck of the vase.

He sat it in the fridge, nerves causing his hands to shake noticeably. 

The next few hours ticked by slowly, but finally, Peter showed up, which Warren soon regretted getting almost happy about.

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s going on? Have I fallen into an alternate dimension? This is an alternate dimension isn’t it?” Peter said, just seconds after sweeping his eyes over his boss.

“Shut it, Maximoff.”

“Oh my God, did you _brush_ your _hair_?” Peter gasped, one hand over his heart, the other thrown dramatically over his forehead.

“I feel like you forget that I could fire you at any time.”

“Could, but won’t. Anyway, who’d you get all gussied up for?”

“Did, did you just use the phrase ‘gussied up’ in an actual sentence?”

Peter snorted. “Sure did. Anyway, you’re avoiding my question.”

Warren exhaled loudly, sending Peter a withering glare. “No one. Leave it alone.”

Peter surprisingly obliged, but not before a long, whiny, “ _Fi-i-i-i-i-i-ine_ ,”

They worked in relative silence until five, at which time Peter bolted for the door to go get something to eat. Warren almost went next door – _almost. But he knew better than to show up before tonight, something told him that Jean wasn’t someone to prod._

_Peter came back at six, only to clock out thirty minutes later. Warren had half an hour to kill, which he did by alternating between nervously glancing at the door and playing Tetris on his phone._

_Seven o’clock rolled around quickly, marked by Warren pulling on his jacket and grabbing the chilled vase from the fridge._

_It was only 5 steps or so between the two establishments, but it was enough time for the fear to creep up his throat. He stomped it down, locking it behind layers and layers of recycled confidence to deal with later. With one last reassuring breath, he pushed down on the gold handle of the blood red door._

_Pop music floated from the stealthily mounted speakers, a comforting backdrop to the idle chatter of the friends. His arrival went unnoticed, as everyone was too busy eating, drinking, and laughing._

_The first person Warren saw was Jubilee – arguably his favorite of The Mutants. She wore an aggressively bright blue dress that hung to her mid-thigh, and a blazing pair of red high tops._

_Jean had her hair pulled back into a complicated braid, wearing a white t-shirt only halfway tucked into her jeans. Her lips, painted cherry red, were hovering close to Scott’s ear._

_Scott, as always, had his sunglasses on, but he at least looked like he had tried when picking his outfit. He was sporting non-ripped, clean jeans, and a collared shirt. Warren heard the other Summers brother’s voice, but didn’t seem him, same for Ororo._

_And then Warren saw Kurt._

_He looked…good – great, amazing. A plain white button up was tucked into his bright red pants, and was pressed up against something._

_Someone._

_He was pressed up against some _one_._

_They had their arm thrown around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him flush against their side. They leaned over, planting a sound kiss on the crown of Kurt’s head, which sent the crowd into a fit of hysterics._

_And that was when Warren registered the familiar sight of silver leather. And silver hair. And the stupid motorcycle goggles._

_He gritted his teeth, weighing his options. He almost, almost made a scene. He was so close to it, in fact, that the grip of three of his fingers had already loosened on the vase in his hands._

_But something stopped him. He wasn’t sure what, but something did. He pawned the vase off on the nearest tabletop. And fled the building without so much as a hello._

_As he passed the window front, he realized that they had pulled the paper off of the windows, revealing the decal underneath._

_Warren couldn’t help but laugh at the bitterness that swam in his stomach and up his throat as he trudged down the sidewalk to the nearest bar, the name chasing him all the way to the bar doors._

_The Fallen Angel  
Tattoos and Piercings  
Walk ins welcome_

_\-----_

 

When Warren got to work the next day, there were swarms of people around the door to The Fallen Angel. He roughly pushed past them, unlocked the door, and slammed the closed sign around to open, and stalked to his office.

He grabbed up the chalkboard he kept stowed away behind the door. He snatched a stick of chalk out of his desk drawer, which was sitting beside the empty cookie tin from the beginning of the month. He slammed the drawer closed and savagely wrote out a last-minute sale.

All Roses 50% off, today only

He made his way back outside, dropping the sign just to the side of the entrance. He rested at the counter, but was soon up again, pacing around the shop, trying to arrange his face into something that looked remotely friendly. 

He fiddled with a few different blossoms, grabbing a few to test out together.

Peter did the worst thing possible, and showed up on time that afternoon. 

He grinned brightly at Warren, tossing his jacket on the hook, before sliding onto the counter. He looked over the flowers that Warren was nearly crushing in his grip, and frowned.

“I’m getting some really…bad vibes off of this whole situation,” Peter said, motioning the Warren and the flowers.

“What are those, bluebells? And yellow carnations?” he added, shaking his head. “Are you okay? Wanna talk about it?”

Warren rolled his eyes. “Not with you, Maximoff.”

Peter held his hands up in surrender. “Someone’s touchy today.”

Warren growled a few choice words under his breath at Peter, tossing the flowers down savagely and stalking towards his office. “Hold down the register. You can manage that right? Or is that too much for you?”

Peter looked at Warren with barely concealed concern, but kept his mouth shut and took up his post in front of the register. 

The next time Peter dared to address his boss was to ask if it was cool for him to head off to lunch.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Warren responded with thinly veiled disgust.

“What, no telling me I actually have to come back?” Peter laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t really care what you do, Peter.”

“Hey, you’ve been like, weird all day. Did I do something to offend you or…?”

Warren scoffed, scribbling out a check to pay the light bill. 

“Your lack of response makes me think I did. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

Warren dismissed him with a flick of his hand, using the other hand to stuff the check into an unmarked envelope. He quickly, but clearly, addressed it, and pressed two stamps up in the corner.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, biting his tongue both metaphorically and physically.

“You’re still here, but I distinctly remember dismissing you for lunch,” Warren said, sounding bored.

Peter knew that tone, the bored, unattached, unfeeling one. It was pre-I-Actually-Have-More-Than-One-Friend Warren.

“Did something happen with you and Kurt?” Peter asked.

One second, he was reclined against the doorway, the next he was pushed up against the wall, a fist twisted cruelly in the collar of his jacket.

“ _Don’t ever, ever, talk to me about him again._ Got it?” 

Peter gulped, nodding his head it agreement.

 

\-----

 

It was two weeks before Peter could even get into The Fallen Angel, due to the fact that there was a line wrapping around the building during all work hours. Finally, one day in the middle of the month, business, while still abundant, was more spread out.

Peter was on a mission. Every day for the past two weeks, Warren had become increasingly bitter, withdrawing back into himself. Any time Peter so much as looked at him, he would snarl hateful words under his breath. 

In short: Peter was worried.

He knew that it involved Kurt, saw it in the way that Warren stared after the tattooed man like a hopeless puppy.

Peter entered the shop, looking around for the familiar head of black and blue. He instead spotted a red ponytail, not what he was looking for, but still familiar.  
“Hey,” Peter grinned, tucking his arms around her shoulders.

“Peter, am I right?” she asked, spinning around. “I knew it.” she laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to return the hug.

“Hey, so have you seen Kurt?”

“Why, you thinking of getting a tattoo?” she snorted.

“Nah, I need to talk to him.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, bouncing in place. “It’s about Warren, I’m kinda worried.”

At the mention of the florist, Jean’s face darkened. “What about him?”

“I’m not entirely sure, I think something happened, and Warren’s been all weird and shit lately, so I’m gonna ask Kurt about it.”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, Pete. Kurt’s doing well, I don’t know what happened with him and Warren, but I tried to get Warren a second chance. He blew it. Kurt’s getting over it.”

“Second chance?”

She bobbed her head. “The night of the party? I texted Warren and told him that he should come, try to figure out the weird tension between him and Kurt. He didn’t show up, Kurt was heartbroken. You remember! He moped in the corner for half the night because the guy that he thought was his friend didn’t even bother to show up for something that was really important to him.”

Peter racked his brain, thinking back to that night. He remembered arriving, talking, teasing Kurt-

“I need to see Kurt right now,”

“Pete-“

“Jean, I’m serious. Which you know never happens, so for one second, I need you to be serious with me. Where’s Kurt?”

“Peter?”

Peter jerked at his name, eyes darting around the room until they landed on the source.

“Okay, thank God, Kurt, listen, we gotta talk, like, right now,” Peter rambled, pushing Kurt towards the break room.

“Is everything okay?”

“Eh, could be better. It’s about Warren, by the way.”

“Is he okay? He is not hurt, is he?”

Peter registered the panic in Kurt’s words before their actual meaning. He squeezed Kurt’s shoulders in a way that he hoped was comforting, putting on a burst of speed to cover the last few feet to the doorway.

“Physically he’s fine, but I think he saw something and took it out of context and is now all mopey and mean. Basically, he’s reverted back to what he was like before he met you and everyone’s paying for it.”

“I do not understand-“

“Good! You don’t need to, because I’m about to lay it all out for you. You remember the opening party, yeah?”

“…yes?”

“Okay good, so you remember how Warren didn’t show up, and you were super bummed?” he didn’t even wait for Kurt’s answer. “Of course you do. So I’m pretty sure that Warren saw me hanging all over you and took it in a serious way.”

“But, that is just how you are? You are very friendly,” Kurt murmured.

“Thanks. But like, it doesn’t look friendly from the outside? Unless you’ve been around us long enough to see that’s just how we interact on a regular basis?”

“And Angel has never seen us interact.”

“Right. I don’t even think he knew we were friends. So basically, I think that Warren thinks that I’m like your Special Guy or whatever, which kind of broke his heart, because I think he wanted to be your Special Guy, if you know what I’m saying,” he stopped to suggestively nudge Kurt in the side with his elbow and wiggle his eyebrows.

“Peter, I can barely understand what you are saying,”

“I’m gonna put this as simply as possible, Kurt. You with me? Yes? Good. _Go kiss Warren so he’ll stop being mean to me and we can all be friends again and you two can do that kinda disgusting, kinda cute couple thing_.”

Kurt blinked one. Twice. 

“Did I break you?” Peter whispered, sliding his hands through his hair.

Silence.

“Aw, man. Jean’s gonna kill me, I can’t believe I broke you.”

“Move,” Kurt said.

“What?”

“ _Move._ You are in front of the door.” He repeated, the glowing embers of fire glowing behind his eyes, ready to catch fire.

Peter leapt to the side, watching Kurt storm out of the room. He called something to Jean in German, what Peter couldn’t make out from here, and slammed the door open.

Peter’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

 

\-----

 

Warren was perched at the counter, chin in one hand, phone in the other. He was reading through an email when the bell shook violently. He looked up, hiding his phone in case it was a customer, but stopped when he saw it was Kurt.

“Angel,” Kurt frowned, approaching the counter.

Warren flinched at the nickname like a wounded animal, untrusting of any humans who came near it.

“My name is Warren.”

“Warren,” Kurt corrected softly, the “w” sound coming out more like a “v”.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wagner?” Warren asked, clenching his teeth tightly.

“I want to talk.”

“Is it in a professional capacity? Because as you can see,” Warren made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “I’m working.”

“Warren, I talked to Peter-“

That was it. That was what broke Warren’s cool, distant façade.

“Oh, really? How are things between you two? Good? That’s great, _congratu-freaking-lations_.” 

Kurt felt the tears well up behind his eyes, pricking at his tear ducts. “Just listen to me!” Kurt yelled, his voice cracking halfway through. The rawness of Kurt’s voice must have caught Warren’s attention fully, because he looked at Kurt with a pained, yet patient, expression.

“What you saw, it was not,” he waved his hands, looking for the right words. “The whole truth.”

“What is the truth then, Kurt?”

“That is just how Peter and I are, he is a very friendly, outgoing person. It shows in outward affection for his friends. You have drawn that line with him, and so you do not see that side of him, even though he is your friend.”

“But, that day, here,” a hurt expression crossed Warren’s face. “We almost kissed. But when Jean showed up, you jumped away, and left so fast. And then we didn’t talk for like two weeks and it was awkward. I thought I had made you uncomfortable. I thought I had misread everything and crossed some sort of line I couldn’t come back from.”

“ _Angel_ ,” Kurt whispered, pressing the palm of his hand to Warren’s cheek, his painted nails – this week red – brushing over his ear, his temple, his hair.

“Kurt, please,” Warren breathed, his words strained.

“What do you want?” Kurt murmured softly.  
Warren closed his eyes, leaning into Kurt’s soft touch. “I want this, God, you don’t know how much I want this, Kurt,” he started.  
Kurt supplied a, “But?”  
“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I deserve it. You don’t, Kurt you don’t know all the things I’ve done.” 

Warren’s hands went to his stomach, crumpling the fabric in his fists. His face fell even farther, features pinching together in recollection.

Kurt reached out, pressing his free hand against Warren’s chest, just over his heart. “They cannot be any worse than what I have done, Angel,” he promised. “Your past is not what matters to me, anyways. It is your present, and your future.”

Tears threatened to consume them both, but they held them back. Kurt asked softly, so soft in fact that Warren nearly missed it, “Can I kiss you?”  
Warren laughed, but nodded all the same.

Kurt curled the fingers already on Warren’s face inwards, pulling him in gently. Their lips brushed, the kiss sweet and soft.

Warren wasn’t used to kisses that weren’t rushed. Hot and greedy: those were the words he thought of when he thought of kisses. But kissing Kurt, it was different. It didn’t feel like everything was being taken from him, it felt like everything was being given back to him.

The world had been taking from Warren from years, taking, and taking, and taking until he didn’t have anything left to give. But when he kissed Kurt, it felt like all of the cracks, and empty holes, all of the caverns and black holes, were being slowly dripped full of concrete, and if he kissed him enough, he would be able to remember the feeling of being complete.

Because he had been alone for so long, searching for that broken piece he had lost and when he kissed Kurt, the world felt… _right_ again.  
They pulled back from each other, but not going far. Kurt rested his forehead against Warren’s, his breath warm on the bridge of Warren’s nose.  
“You deserve this, you know,” Kurt whispered.

“I don’t.” Warren stated, already accepting the fact. “But I’m going to do everything I can to one day be worthy of it. Of you. Even if it takes my whole life, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Kurt huffed a laugh. “You are very dramatic, did you know that?”

“Black Knight Delphiniums.” Warren said, blinking owlishly.

“What?” Kurt asked, chuckling.

“You asked me what my favorite flower was, and when I said I didn’t know, you told me to get back to you. I’m getting back to you: Black Knight Delphiniums.”  
“Why?”

Warren reached up to run his fingers through Kurt’s hair, before gently tugging on a chunk of blue. “Take a wild guess.”

 

\-----

 

“Yes!” Peter shouted, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “Did you see that?! Did you?! I did that! Look at them, lovesick fools the both of them!” he added, turning to look at the group that had gathered behind him.

The Mutants, including Alex Summers and Ororo Munroe, were all grinning madly at the two men standing inside of the flower shop. Even Jean, who had been worried about the whole ordeal the moment Kurt had torn out of the parlor and Peter had explained the situation to her.

Warren must have heard them shouting, because he sent them all a deadly squint over Kurt’s shoulder, before pulling Kurt back in for another kiss. He used his free hand to send Peter a rather crude gesture, but Peter took it as a sign of affection. Clapping his hand over his heart and cooing about young love at the top of his lungs.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly: I'm not saying that Warren steals his boyfriend's snapbacks, but that's exactly what I'm saying, bye
> 
> Secondly, the flowers meanings, in order by appearance. (Note: I pulled this info from a ton of different sites, so if it doesn't match up with stuff you've heard before, sorry.)
> 
> Purple Hyacinth - "I'm Sorry"
> 
> Orange Roses - "Fascination"
> 
> Pansies - I didn't actually choose pansies with the meaning in mind, it was just a filler
> 
> Gardenias - "Secret Love"
> 
> Rose, single, full blossom - "I Love You"
> 
> Bluebells - "Humility"
> 
> Yellow Carnations - "Rejection"
> 
> Black Knight Delphiniums - I actually chose this flower purely based on its looks (look it up) but I later found out that the Delphinium means "infinite possibilities" which I think is a pretty good fit for these two


End file.
